Page 40 of Flirting with Forever

A wild heat rose between her legs, and Cam found herself responding as easily to the image in her head as she might to the real thing.

Good God, where are you going with this, girl?

It had been six months since she and Jacket had made love, and during that time she’d had no desire to go to bed with anyone. The part of her that responded blindly to the call of lust had been muted that day after she’d opened their bedroom door. Yet here she was constructing an interlude as erotic as those in the novels she’d read.

There was a strange freedom to being cast into another time that she’d never felt before. It was as if she were in a dream of her own making, with no one to justify her actions to but herself. This, she decided, could be a very dangerous thing.

She turned, and a nipple brushed the carved wood of the arm, sending a magnificent plume of heat through her. But the wood was Peter’s finger, and she longed for his touch. She moved gently, no more than the motion of inhaling and exhaling, and let him rub the tender flesh. He taunted her. She could feel his throb, let her fingers ride the satiny flesh. He drew up beside her, spoon to spoon, and rolled the nipple slowly, kissing her neck and ear, the barest scent of vanilla reaching her nose as she stretched against him like a cat.

Oh, the Rhenish is definitely working.

She stole a glance at Peter. He was laboring intently now, brushing the paint on with short, expert strokes. She closed her eyes and opened them again, and this time he was looking at her. Her breath caught, and he looked away.

“Is he in your thoughts, Mrs. Post? I do not wish to shock, and you will pardon me for saying this, but as you carry yourself with far too confident a grace to be a maiden, I intend to speak plain. You must be filled with him, do you understand?”

His brown eyes deepened in color, and she felt her pulse quicken. “Aye, I understand.”

“Some women cannot do it. But I see you have no fear.”

“‘No fear’ might be overstating things.” Her heart was thumping so hard she wondered if he could hear it.

“There are certain things I can do to enhance the effect—if such an aid is needed.”

Blood roared in her ears. What had he seen? What was he offering? She thought of his mouth on hers, a welcome hand between her thighs. “What?”

“There are tricks. A wash of rose madder on the cheeks, a pinwheel of gold in the eye.”

She flushed deeply at her mistake, so deeply that for an instant the world blurred.

He saw her embarrassment, and guessed its source. “To that end, milady, I have but one aid, though it is extremely adaptable.”

She closed her eyes, too embarrassed to look at him. “Aye?”

“To be honest, ’tis not my practice to share this with my sitters. It is far more potent, I think, if it happens without their notice, but you are a woman of the world. I assure you, it will work for you if you let it.”

“What, sir? What?”

“I can help bring your lover to mind through judicious use of his, er, methods of seduction—only the most proper ones, of course.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he said shortly, “I can pour, I can praise, I can command. If I strike the note that brings him to mind, you will respond. Which path shall I follow?”

Jacket had charmed and cajoled, and after he hurt her feelings, he had charmed her even more. Cam would not waste a thought on that now. But the right words from Peter could turn what she wanted—what she had already begun—from a flame into a fire.

“I can pour,” she said. “You command me.”

For a moment he said nothing, then he nodded and stepped behind the easel. “Remove your gown.”

Flames roared through her. She sat up, finished the rest of the wine, and poured another. Then she loosened the silk and let it slide off the muslin.

He turned toward the canvas with a wry chuckle. “The muslin as well, please.”

Sheer terror flooded every nerve. “I’m not comfortable with that.”

“You have contrived to put yourself on a painter’s chaise in a remote studio. That is the natural outcome.”

Her hands shook as she brushed one shoulder off and then the other. The fabric slipped to her waist.